A Seat At The Table
by coldfusion9797
Summary: Kingsman recruitment isn't quite what it used to be. Part five in Yellow Brick Road series (works as a stand-alone too).


**AN: I thought it would be fun to have a look at how Harry and Tequila might work together. And I'm pretty rubbish at writing OC's so I decided to recycle an old character from Secret Service. Enjoy!**

Digby was minding his own business. He did that a lot these days, ever since a blue rash had broken out on his face and his whole life had turned to shit. It had been half shit already, but that had really finished his old man off. He'd tried to convince his father that he wasn't a drug addict, that a bit of coke at a party was no big deal, everyone did it, but apparently he'd disgraced the family one time too many and that was that. If he wanted to be a stain on the family name he could make his own way in life.

He sat alone at the bar, a working class place. He didn't fit in here, but he didn't fit in with the well-to-do's either now, even though he knew half the kids his age had been effected by Poppy's sick plan. It was just that their parents had been better at hiding it, or too busy trying to hide their own habits, to worry about their delinquent children.

He swallowed the last tepid mouthful of his beer.

"Get you another one there, friend?"

He looked across to see a genuine American cowboy had pulled up a stool at the bar. He flashed Digby a grin and slid a beer along the counter.

"Cheers," Digby accepted, he'd be an idiot to turn down a free drink. He downed half of it in one go.

"I'm new in town," the stranger offered. That sounded good to Digby, maybe he could have a conversation without feeling the weight of judgement that wafted off every other person in his life.

"Where are you from?"

"Kentucky."

"Like the fried chicken?"

"Yeah. And the best bourbon this world has to offer. We should have a couple of those next. Two Old Foresters," he called to the bar tender.

"Tate," the American said, extending his hand.

"Digby," he returned with a firm shake.

Two whiskies landed on the bar in front of them.

"So what do you do with yourself, Digby?"

"Toil away at Winchester service station."

"You don't sound real happy about that."

"Once upon a time I had higher hopes."

"Like what?"

"Doesn't matter now." The Kingsman boat had sailed a long time ago and his dreams of becoming Lancelot with it.

"Can't be all bad though, right? You got a girlfriend?"

"No."

"A boyfriend?"

"No," Digby frowned, shaking his head. If he had a dollar for every time someone had assumed he was gay in the last six months just because he'd been schooled in the proper use of the English language, he'd likely have enough money to retire by now.

"Sorry, didn't mean any offence."

"None taken. Actually, you know, I don't feel so well." He tried to get up but suddenly he felt as though his legs wouldn't hold him.

"Whoa there, need some help buddy?"

The last things he remembered were a strangers arm around him and being lead out into the night, before everything faded away to nothing.

xxx

When Digby woke he was tied to a chair, unable to escape.

"What the fuck?" he muttered, tugging at the bonds which held his hands tied firmly behind his back.

"Ain't no use struggling, I tied them knots." He looked up to see the American from the bar. Oh Christ, he'd been roofied. How embarrassing...

"You? Who the hell _are_ you?" Digby demanded. "What do you want?"

"I just got a couple of questions for ya, then y'all can be on your way."

"I don't know anything." He really didn't like where this was heading.

"That's what he said," the American countered, pointing across the room to where another man was tied up, slumped in a chair and covered in blood. Holy fuck, what was all this about?

"I'm looking for some information about the new Swedish prince. You know anything about him?" Swedish prince... Eggy? Really? That's what this was about? Some kid he'd known for five minutes back when he'd fucked up his Kingsman recruitment? Fucking hell. He usually tried not think too much about those days. Life had been good back then. He'd had money, influence, friends and a future. Even if Charlie had been a first class arsehole, at school it had been better to be the right-hand of the devil then in his path. And Rufus? Well he'd fucked up his recruitment too, because he was a coward. They hadn't really kept in after Kingsman when Charlie, who'd been the common thread between them, was gone. He thought he'd heard somewhere along the line that Rufus hadn't made it through V Day.

Eggy though, he'd done alright for himself, scoring that fit princess. Digby took a kind of sick satisfaction from knowing how much Charlie would hate Eggy's good fortune and he didn't particularly want to do anything to fuck that up for Eggy. Charlie had been an absolute prick, Digby didn't miss him.

"Why on Earth would I?"

"You tell me."

He presumed this man wasn't going to settle for nothing, so maybe he could play it as though his upper class snobbishness was still firmly in place and just give him what he would already know.

"I only know what I read, he's some chav from the estates, isn't he? The tabloids wrote it like a fairy tale."

"He has a past, one I think you were involved in, and I wanna know about it. I tried asking his friend over there, but he wouldn't talk. Not even when I carved his eye out."

"What?" Digby gulped, tugging desperately at the unyielding rope again.

"I'm not saying you have to end up like that. All you gotta do is tell me the truth."

Now that his eyes had adjusted better to the darkness, he could see the empty socket which was the source of the blood staining the other man's face and clothes. And now that he really looked, he realised that this was Galahad, the one who'd proposed Eggy. During recruitment, they weren't supposed to discuss who'd proposed them but Eggy was a rule breaker and had made no secret of the fact that Harry Hart was his benefactor. He stared in horror at Galahad's ruined face before the American clamped a hand around his jaw, and jerked his head away, holding a mean looking bowie knife up to his face.

"I've heard the name Kingsman. You know anything about that?"

"No!"

"You better be real damn sure about that," his interrogator said, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back at an awkward angle.

"Please!" Digby shouted, trying to shake his head free, "I said I don't fucking know anything, alright! I just work at a car wash!" There was a truth this fucker could suck on. An Oxford education and he spent his days scrubbing bug guts and bird shit off other people's crappy cars.

"Last chance to talk," the American said, pressing the cold blade to his cheek.

He didn't want to lose an eye, but he'd sworn never to tell Kingsman's secrets. An old warning issued in a Scottish accent played through his mind. _...your agreement to strict confidentiality. Which, incidentally, if you break, will result in you and your next of kin being in that bag..._ Christ, he was fucked either way, but if he kept his mouth shut, at least this way he could die with some semblance of honour. That was something he used to care about.

"There's nothing to tell," he insisted. He should have known that his miserable existence would amount to this. He'd resigned himself to the inevitable when Galahad groaned, drawing the attention of the kidnapper away. Digby looked across the room too and saw the ropes fall away from the man's wrists as he stood up.

"That'll do, Bedivere."

The American immediately dropped his knife and took a step back as Galahad straightened his blood-soaked suit and crossed the room to stand before him.

"Terribly sorry for the interruption to your evening Digby, but you've done splendidly."

"What the fuck?" he choked out. "Galahad?"

"It's Arthur now. You needed to be tested. You passed by the way."

"What? But your eye..." Tearing out your own eye was pretty extreme even for Kingsman.

"Oh this? An old injury."

"The blood..."

"Corn syrup and food dye. None of this is important. What matters is that you've got a second shot at Kingsman if you want it."

"I... You want to recruit me?" Digby uttered in disbelief.

"Yes. You see we find ourselves a little short staffed of late."

Digby could probably be offended by that, but he chose not to be. He focused on what was important here, and that was a chance. A second chance to make something of himself and he was going to embrace it. He'd missed the mark last time, he wasn't going to let that happen again.

He took a deep breath and gathered himself. Who would have thought that getting drugged and abducted would be the best thing to happen to him in a very long time?

"So which code names are up for grabs?"

"Plenty, I'm afraid," Galahad, no Arthur, sighed. "Let him up, Bedivere."

The American, Bedivere, cut him loose. Digby rubbed his wrists, stood up and shook Arthur's hand.

"Can I be Lancelot?"

Arthur shared a look with Bedivere before nodding his assent.

"Lancelot, it is."

 **AN: Plenty more to come for these boys so stay tuned. And if you're wondering… Yes, Eggsy will be making an appearance in this series somewhere down the track. Thanks for reading :)**


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